


Wake of Dawn

by macabrepunk



Category: Darkwood (Video Game)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, True Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 11:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrepunk/pseuds/macabrepunk
Summary: "I can’t place the disturbingly familiar face behind that helmet, but I do remember one thing.He’s the one who saved me from the Doc’s house."
Relationships: The Stranger (Darkwood)/Trader (Darkwood)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 75





	Wake of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This is for you Bricky. Be nice, this is my first public fic.

Day 1  
Odd, I don’t remember this place. It appears to be a hideout, but I don’t recall escaping Doc’s shack. Doesn’t matter, I still need to find that key. Seems I already have a visitor waiting for me outside, but unless my eyes are deceiving me, it looks like a man with the head of a wolf. I suppose I’m still tripping on whatever drugs that quack slipped me. Only time will tell if I can find any leads on him.

Day 2  
There’s a man standing before me. I can’t place the disturbingly familiar face behind that helmet, but I do remember one thing. He’s the one who saved me from the Doc’s house. It’s possible he might give me some intel about locations around here. He looks like he’s been here for quite a while.

“We need to stick together, brother.”

As opposed to what, mingling with the savages?

Day 4  
It’s becoming increasingly clear how fucked this place is. Every one of these residents is half-baked at best, and I could care less for a man who calls me “Meat.” I can tolerate that man, the Trader, but he’s seen few and far between. He’s here again, now that the night is over. I notice a smile on his face, but while it does ease my anxieties I can’t stick around for long. I’m still Wolfman’s little errand boy until I get the key. On my way out, he takes a step in my direction and pats my shoulder.

“I’m here if you need anything.”

I don’t know what more I could possibly want from him. But I suppose I can ask for favors if things go south, and they always do.

Day 6  
Had my first nightmare in a while, thought I was too old for that shit. I decided to pack up and set up a new hideout. While this place does have a better location, it’s clearly lacking in defenses. I think the Trader is aware of my little “errands,” but there’s no indication of disgust or approval. I usually wouldn’t care for such opinions, but he’s different from the other residents, less insane. He only nods in understanding, slipping things into my palms. He pulls me in closer, before frantically searching his pockets for charcoal, leaning on my shoulder as he does so.

“There’s no way out of here, brother.”

I think we both know he’s bullshitting and I’m half-tempted to shove him off, but the warmth off of his body feels strangely familiar, like a blanket of security. He wipes his palm off before scribbling again.

“We’re stuck with each other.”

Is that a threat or a promise? He stares into my eyes with a look of wistfulness, trying to convey something but it’s lost to me. The man then breaks away before taking out a full tank of gasoline from his sack. He places it on the floor, next to me. I head out in search of the village.

Day 8  
I wish I could sleep, but I don’t know if that’s best for me. The nights feel as if they’re getting longer, and certainly not easier on my conscience. The wedding is a sole reminder of that, and I’m past ready to leave all this fuckery behind. I have the Chicken Lady’s key, it’s just a matter of delivering my promise. The Trader is waiting for me, sitting on my bed. The sack must be too heavy for him, given the long travel this hideout brings him. I don’t need much from him today, but it’s enough to see him return by morning. As much as I’d like to entertain my stay here, this might be the last time I bunker down here. This hideout is quickly losing its charm.

Day 9  
I’m changing hideouts again, I’m getting tired of these damn nightmares. I did mark that fucker’s house on my map, I just need to find it and get my key. The Trader tracks me down again, looking out of breath. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, something written already on his forearm.

“The forest wants to devour you. You’re heading straight into its jaws.”

The only other option is to stay here and let it kill me slowly with those crazy natives. Part of me thinks he’s lying to keep me from leaving, but why? He grabs my arm and writes another message before closing the distance between us, shifting my eyes to his face as his palm grazes my cheek.

“Please. Stay here with me.”

I’m conflicted over his intentions. I can’t tell if he really means it or if he just needs someone to pass the time, but it’s probably the best I can get with this ugly mug. Still, as he leans towards my face I remove my scarf and return the gesture as he leads me back to the bed.  
I leave later in the afternoon. I think that was the first time I dreamt with no nightmares.

Day 10  
Oh I found the doctor alright. A sorry piece of shit, that one and I wasn’t gonna bother entertaining him and his “excuse,” but I got what I need. Now I just need to pack my things and leave. I plan on saying goodbye to the Trader, but upon meeting him he grabs my arm and pulls me closer. A strong smell of mushrooms assails my nostrils. He’s covered in growths, and his porous helmet pulsates to the rhythm of his breathing. I’m starting to feel dizzy. He lifts his arm, as pale as paper, not at all like his skin yesterday.

“Do not open the door. Let’s stick together.”

He’s clearly shaking, holding onto me with a vice grip. I have to wonder why he can’t simply come with me and his adamant refusal to join me doesn’t sit well with me. I have no choice but to leave him behind. He holds my hand with a lingering gaze before I let him go. I have to go back home. I still have a life out there.

Day 11  
I landed in a swamp after crawling out of the bunker entrance. It seems that the creatures crawling all over are more violent than the last place, so I should stock up on weapons to last the night. The place is overridden with mushrooms too, the stench is making me sick.  
Maybe I’m starting to see why the Trader wants to avoid this place, but I wonder if leaving him behind is a mistake. I still remember what he wrote before I left after that day. Maybe he said it to convince me to stay.

“Was it good for you too?”

Day 12  
I found him. The clear writing etched into his visor.

“Liar.”

Day 24  
It’s over. I’m finally home. My neighbors greet me with content, the warm rays of the sun washing over me through the cracks of the apartments. As I step through the doorway to my flat, the cozy air is an instant sign of relief as I hang my coat. Everything is still the way I left it; my dog resting on the rug, the hum of my washing machine. If it’s on, that must mean my wife is here, waiting for my return.  
I’ve missed her for so long. I open the door to my kitchen to find it empty, but there’s a pot of soup on the stove, a note waiting for me on the table. She must either be out or resting in bed, but regardless I need to rest. I’m so tired….  
Upon walking into my bedroom, I’m met with the face of the Trader. His helmet lies next to his feet, his sack resting against the wall. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing at me with an expectant welcome.

“Welcome back, brother.”

I’m just glad that I’m back at home, back in the Trader’s arms, back in the warm recluse of my bed. As I straddle his waist, I take off what’s left of my clothes while he kisses my shoulder. He’s whispering into my ear, but I’m lost in the glow of his body heat, the feeling of security in his embrace, the low timbre of his voice lulling me to sleep. I’m so tired, but this is worth a little more time before a long, well deserved rest. I lower myself, stealing his breath as I kiss his bruised lips, lower, lower. He lifts my face to his smoldering gaze, and I move in once again where I left off.

“Wake up.”  
“What?”

Wait, why is the Trader here in the first place? Where is my wife? Wasn't my face heavily deformed? I shouldn't be able to speak, let alone other things. And wasn't the Trader dead? This is all wrong, something isn't right.

  
“You’re heading straight into its jaws.”  
“The fuck is go-”

The warmth is gone.

  
Burn them all.


End file.
